Troubles with Scanra
by jweb guru
Summary: War is brewing in Scanra. The half giant, half metal creatures have begun to raid the outlying Tortallian villages. At the same time, a plan to assassinate someone close to King Jonathon is developing. Can Tortall win the war and keep Alanna alive?
1. Plots and Spies

            Alanna walked quickly down the hall.  She felt almost like she was being watched, as though someone has trained their eyes on her from a concealed window.  Brushing back her coppery hair, she halted.  She thought she heard faint footsteps for a few moments, before they, too, ceased.

            Turning, Alanna placed her hand upon the jewel that was a token from the Goddess, which she always kept around her throat.  The shape of a man was outlined in brilliant, gold fire.  Alanna frowned.  She _knew_ that man.  Calling upon her magical Gift, she canceled the spell and looked, this time at a real person.

            Sir Myles of Barony Olau stood revealed in the low light, looking rather embarrassed.  His hair was beginning to turn gray, but he still stood as tall and steady as he was when Alanna was his student, and not his adopted daughter.  Alanna looked at him uncertainly, trying to figure out why he was here.

            Myles cleared his throat.  "I'm sorry I followed you," he said, looking embarrassed.  "I wouldn't have used the spell, but Jon was after me to inform you of the latest news of war along the Scanran borders.  It doesn't look good.  Our king knows you don't like to be disturbed…"

            Alanna snapped, "No, I don't.  The news can wait."  She began striding down the corner, and felt a tug on her sleeve.  She turned around to look up at Myles.  One of the troubles about being so short, she thought ruefully, was that one was forever craning their neck.  "_Now_ what?" she asked, exasperated.

            "The news _can't_ wait," Myles explained patiently.  "The word is out – there's a plan to assassinate you."

* * *

            Veralidaine Sarrasri, better known as Daine or the Wildmage, had been listening to the reports for the past hour and a half.  A field mouse named Pounce had merely been the first of a steady trickle of definite information: there was a plan to assassinate someone close to the king.  Furthermore, at least an eighth of the animals had been positive that Alanna was mentioned.  She pieced two and two together, and reported to Myles.  Alanna might not _be_ assassinated, but it was best to be safe.  She knew Myles would help.

            In the light of such important, pressing news, she had not mentioned one other thing; the reports were too scarce for Myles to make sense of them.  It seemed that the Scanran metal-giants were appearing in large numbers around the camps, now permanent, where the various tribes had settled for the war.  This made sense; the huge beasts would ensure that little or no rebellion could ever escape.  The interesting part of the report was that, at least in some of the camps, there were a few less of these beasts every day.  This not only wasn't definite, as not all the animals covered the territory in one day, but it wasn't useful.

After all, saying 'the beasts are leaving the camps' would be fair foolish.  If anything, it would be a reason to hope, because fewer beasts meant more chance of a successful rebellion against their leader – Daine leaned back, trying to remember his name, and failed.  Oh, well.  Some important, jumped-up general or another.  She grinned as she imagined him without his precious metallic giants to guard him.  He'd have a hard time escaping Tortall's wrath.  As she settled down to help heal some of the animals that'd been wounded while spying, she failed to note the report of a lone dragonfly: the metal-things were heading toward Tortall.

***

            Sir Keladry of Mindelan stopped to wipe the sweat off her forehead, then once again lifted her lance.  "Charge," she whispered softly to Peachblossom, her horse.  Peachblossom snorted – he didn't seem to be in the mood for whispers – and stampeded down the field, turning yards into inches in mere seconds.  Her opponent's lance shattered on contact with her shield.  She hit solidly, and watched as he flew out of the saddle and onto the ground.

            Her dog, Jump, began to frantically lick the fallen.  Kel laughed and picked him up, letting her friend stand.  He pulled back his helmet, and began to smile.  His unruly hair stood out in all directions, but he was a great raider hunter.  His knight-master, Lord Wyldon, had reluctantly come back to the palace for the summer, however.  "Kel, that was _jolly_!" Owen of Jesslaw gasped, out of breath.  "Even you weren't fighting like that last time I saw you! Did Lord Raoul teach you?  Wyldon doesn't talk much about jousting, so -"

            "Enough," Kel informed her friend firmly.  "You said you wanted jousting experience, particularly since you'll be a knight in a year anyway."  Kel, herself, had just become the second lady knight in almost a century.  The first, Alanna the lioness, had been knighted male; Kel still wondered whether it had been easier pretending to be a boy or openly admitting her femininity.  As she slowly walked, laughing and talking to Owen, to the entrance to the palace, Alanna and Myles walked out of the back door onto the training grounds, conversing quietly.

            Kel jumped.  Although she'd known Alanna for the last two or three years of her squirehood, it still made her nervous to be around the hero.  This was especially true after she learned that Alanna was, in fact, her secret benefactor.  Someone had been secretly giving her gifts on the holidays ever since she was a page on probation.  Finding it out had been a relief.  Her sword, Griffin, the last gift Alanna gave her, hung loosely at her belt.  She still couldn't thank Alanna enough for this gift alone, let alone the variety she received over a period of eight years.  She looked trouble, a fact that troubled Kel.  She didn't want to know what could trouble her hero.

            "-sure it was me?"  she was asking now, tight-lipped.  "You're absolutely _certain_ that I was the only one mentioned?"

            "Quite sure," Myles replied sadly.  "But even if I were not, it would be necessary to protect you from harm.  You cannot, I repeat, _cannot_, put yourself in such danger.  Imagine the loss to Tortall, to the world, to the army!  And the loss," he concluded softly, "to those who care about you.  Me.  Jonathon.  George.  Each of us would gladly help protect you from harm, my lady.  We will extend every precaution to prevent your -" the voices faded.  Kel, debating on whether or not to follow and eavesdrop, decided against it.  It sounded like they were having a personal conversation.  She continued with Owen through the door, and they began wandering through the long, twisty passage that led to the dining hall.


	2. Balls and Villains

            Sir Lord Raoul of Malorie's Peak, commander-in-chief of the Third Company of the King's Own, frowned at Captain Flyndan.  "What does it matter if we go off to fight off the Scanrans?" he demanded now .  "Those metal monstrosities are busy guarding clan members, and I can just feel one of the King's great balls coming up.  He seems to think that balls prove that Tortall not only exists, but has enough money to sponsor silly, useless events that don't help us in the least on our war against Scan-"

            "Raoul, please reconsider!"  There was an edge of urgency in Flyndan's voice.  "You know what they're saying – there's a plot to kill Alanna!"

            "There is?"  Raoul asked, startled.  He hadn't heard anything of the sort.  "Where'd you get that?"

            "From Myles, if you must know," Flynn replied waspishly, "and it's not just rumors!  We _need_ to be at this ball to protect her from enemies!"

            "So you don't believe she's capable of taking care of herself?" Raoul asked, unable to stop himself from adding a touch of sarcasm to his voice.  "She can take care of herself!  It's not like -"

            "What I believe is of no import," Flynn said.  "Our King Jonathon has ordained it, and we shall come to the ball to protect her from -"

            "For heaven's sake, Flynn!"  Raoul snapped, out of patience.  "If he's so worried about her health, why bother having a ball in the first place?"  That was irrational, he knew.  If the ball were called off, the whole country would know something was wrong.  That would impair Jon's efficiency as a king, as well as make life difficult for everyone.  "Doesn't he care about the _rest_ of the Kingdom?  He shouldn't have planned the ball in the first place!  I'll tell you what I think, this is just one of his many plans he has for getting us to dance attendance upon him and his royal pack of fools."

            "Myles did say something about the King being rather annoyed at your not coming to the _last_ ball," Flynn admitted.  "But like it or not, we must protect Alanna.  Unless you want her to be shot with a Scanran arrow tomorrow night?"

Raoul shuddered and drew the gods-circle on his chest.  "You've got me there, Flynn.  I'll be at the ball.  But it will be _strictly_ as warriors.  No Buri, no bright clothing, no royal poppycock, understood?  And I'll want some peace and quiet _outside_."  Raoul stormed away before Flynn could reply.

***

            Maggur Rathhausak, Scanran warlord and (he thought) the greatest scourge on Tortall in generations, relaxed on the cushion the slaves were holding.  "Down!" he said firmly.  The great, lumbering beasts looked at him, then set him down gently.  He rose and walked into the great valley, the giants following him.  He hadn't given them orders to do so, but they went anyway.  Why would they miss a chance to see their capital?

            The real giants nodded respectfully and let him pass.  He continued through the sprawling roads and shops that lined them, here in the capital of the country of Utaen, Noaj.  It was the greatest, most wealthy, and most powerful city in the entire country that held most of the giants Scanrans associated with.  Rumor had it that large, wild, uncivilized giants existed in the mountains, and that no giant of the cities stood a chance against one, but Maggur held this to be complete nonsense.  He'd never seen one, and neither had any other giant he knew.

            Giants ceased their endless yelling when he passed their shops.  Maggur smirked; here he was more important than many a giant.  As the roads wound higher and he began to travel toward the center of the city, there was less yelling, and more people standing around just to look important.  He recognized a few of them; most of them were probably Giantish nobles, or what the giants _called_ nobles.  Even they, however, had to bow when he passed through.

            At last, he thought, satisfied.  The palace gates loomed over him.  Two guards, at least twelve feet tall and looking unimpressed by him, stood solidly in front of him.  The first one asked, face expressionless, "Credentials?"  Maggur raised his hand so they could see the magical tattoo of two giant bones, glowing softly.  The second guard lowered his hand to the level of Maggur's, revealing a similar tattoo.  A soft, golden beam leapt from pattern to pattern, causing a hum to travel through the air between them.  "You may pass," said the first guard, his voice just as dead as it was originally.

            Maggur wished the Utaenish people would reveal how they trained their people to act in such a manner.  He had the feeling that it was a secret of more magic than muscle, but none of the mages would reveal anything the king did not wish of them; this was another trait he desired in his own people.  He passed through the hall, which might seem beautiful to the giants but was merely another barrier to seeing the king, or so Maggur believed.  He had a surprise for King Yahtea; no doubt the king thought he was going to ask him for more, or whine about how Scanra couldn't handle Tortall's pressure.  After all, a number of the beasts _had_ been destroyed by that accursed King's Own.

            The beautiful, wood-carved doors opened at the touch of one of the beasts.  Maggur entered the throne room, at long last.

            Yahtea asked, "What is it you wish to say, Maggur?"  He spoke with a thick Giantish accent.  "Whatever it is, make it quick.  I have things to do more important than to aid you and your mock-kingdom."  The words made Maggur bristle with fury; he had to remind himself that these giants, heads in the air, would pay for their insults when he was king. "Great King Yahtea," Maggur said, "You gave me the spirits of the baby giants to trap in these bodies.  We have enough, and we have begun our attack on Tortall!"

***

            Alanna woke up to the sound of someone knocking at her door.  "Naptime's over!" George yelled cheerfully from the hall.  Alanna struggled to remember why he was here before she recalled that there was a big dance.  She wondered if George knew about the plan to kill her, and decided against telling him.  If he didn't know, she didn't want him to, and if he didn't he'd find out tonight at dinner.  You couldn't keep a secret from George for any length of time.

            Her suspicions about his observational abilities proved correct when she walked out of the room in a dress that she hoped she wouldn't have to be admired in for long.  The dress, a beautiful violet one inlaid with gold, had been sewed by Lalasa*****, but not even the best dress in Tortall (which this was not) would not have made Alanna happy.  She wished for the thousandth time that Jon would just let her wear a stylish tunic and breeches to state occasions, as she had when giving him the Dominion Jewel.  _But no…_, ran through her mind once again, _he insists upon me wearing, Great Mother, a _dress._  This thing is likely to make me suffocate and die from heat tonight, without my ever being touched by an arrow._

            "What's troubling you?" George asked almost immediately, as she closed the door behind her.  "I know you hate the dress, but even you don't hate it _that_ much."  Alanna realized that he must not know about the Scanran's plans, and held her tongue.  "I'm just tired, dear," she replied, her mind on other things.

            "Are you sure?" asked George sharply.

            "Yes," she replied forcefully.

"Hmph," he said, sounding unconvinced.  He looked like he wanted to ask her more questions, but she had already turned around and begun to move down the hall.  With a sigh, wondering what he'd gotten himself into when he agreed to go to the ball, he moved down the stairs after her.

**Author's Note: **Well, I'm not QUITE sure of the plot yet, but never fear, I'll think of something!  ***Groans are clearly heard in background.*** Oh, come on.  It wasn't _that_ bad.  Don't be such babies!  It's only… ***realizes he is talking to the air.***  I mean, um… ***chuckles weakly*** hehe, I was only joking… that is… well, anyway, please read and review!  For heaven's sake!  Do I need an author's note at the top and bottom of every story, as well as a disclaimer revealing that I don't know what I'm talking about?  Geeze!  ***Stomps off, muttering angrily.  Returns.*** Oh, yeah.  At the bottom of this, I have little asterisks that say what the asterisks on the top are referring to.  I think this one is somewhere in the middle of the story, next to Lalasa's name.  If you can't find it, read the chapter again (if you want) and then you can review it again, too.  Just to tell me you found it.  Okay?  ***Dodges fruit peel.***  Well, anyway, here it is:

***** Yeah, I know everyone uses Lalasa to make everything.  I know you wanted something original.  So sue me.  **(A/N:** Please don't.**)**

That's all for now!  Bye!


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